


Three Simple Rules

by CannonsAndCurses



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Demon Hunters, POV Wynonna, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannonsAndCurses/pseuds/CannonsAndCurses
Summary: In retrospect, I probably should have seen it coming. I listened to alternative rock. I hated school. I got into fights… a lot. I had a chip on my shoulder far bigger than my microscopic hometown.And I was about to fall in love — the love people write stories about, the love people wait their entire lives to feel, and my naive ass got it at eighteen. I’m talking Romeo and Juliet, scream it from the rooftops, every-gross-cliche-you-can-imagine type love.Wait, is R&J not the best metaphor for teenage love stories? Eh, whatever.You don’t know me. But you won’t be able to say that much longer.





	1. The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello!
> 
> Some of you may know me from the Carmilla fic I'm still working on (and don't worry, I know I've been absent, life got CRAZY, but I have an update on that one coming your way this week).
> 
> This fic began as an original work, but lends itself so well to the Wynonna Earp universe that I just kept seeing the characters as those characters. So here it is. Maybe it will eventually be reborn as the original work it was intended as, or maybe not. We'll see.
> 
> Other character and relationship tags will be added as this moves forward.
> 
> Enjoy, maybe, lovers of the dark.

“Sweetheart, you wanna get me another coke, and add a dash of rum in there?” Champ Hardy asked, his smarmy charisma bleeding off the empty cup he handed me. I placed it on the cocktail tray in my other hand and wiped his essence onto my black apron. What a freaking sleaze.

“I can’t serve you alcohol, Champ, you’re seventeen. Ya ain’t worth losing my job over.” I started walking away, letting my comment hang in the air behind me.

“Aw,” he slurred. It seemed like he was getting alcohol just fine, don’t know why he was asking me. “Come on, baby.”

I stopped in my tracks. The click of a cue ball hitting another echoed across the rollerway. See, I have Three Simple Rules.

Rule One? Don’t call me ‘baby’.

Blood pounded in my ears. My manager stood behind the counter twenty or so feet away, wearing that same lumpy brown sweater vest he always did. Somehow overnight the Brighton Rollerway had become the “place to be” if you were between the ages of fifteen and college. Put a real damper on my Second Rule:

Just Ignore People.

Sometimes Rules One and Two conflicted, and that always got me into trouble.

“You can stand there all night if you want, baby, s’a great view,” Champ’s deep but somehow nasal tone sliced straight through me. Ugh.

“Don’t call me ‘baby,’” I whispered without turning back. I didn’t even know if Champ had heard me. I would have been surprised if anything could cut through that mop of blonde hair or the monstrous shield of ego he wore.

My manager looked up and I smiled sweetly at him. Doing my job, being nice, I promise. The slightest bit of red rushed to his cheeks. Gross, he was like forty-five. Being a pretty but “angry” eighteen-year-old girl sometimes had its advantages. But those advantages never reared their mildly attractive heads at Brighton Rollerway, especially on birthday nights. Which, by the way, somehow ended up being most nights despite the fact that I thought I could count the number of people in this town on my two hands.

Skye Thomas, Champ’s girlfriend - maybe “girlfriend” was stretching it a little bit… how should I put this? Champ’s “special friend” - stepped out in front of me and I swiveled the tray in my hand just in time to not smack her with it.

Pity.

“Hitting on two-bit Wynnie again?” Skye’s raspy voice grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh, come on, baby,” Champ said, for the first time tonight not referring to me when he said it. “You know I only got eyes for you. She’s got a nice ass, though.” Jesus, where the hell did I live? What episode of… fill-in-the-blank terrible teen show did I jump into?

“Yeah, not bad, Nona.” Skye winked. Skye slept with girls with Champ, that much was common knowledge. What wasn’t was that one time I heard her saying she only did it to keep his interest and that she wasn’t actually bisexual. It briefly made me a little sad, then frustrated the hell outta me. All I knew was that her actions and her saying that was typical Skye, making it harder for all the real people out there to come out, like my legitimately bisexual sixteen-year-old sister, with whom it was common knowledge that Champ hopelessly flirted. Bet Waverly had taste. Good taste. And boy was she busy. And taken.

But anyway, Skye always took whatever was hers and whatever wasn’t. Rude.

More annoying than Skye living her life in her vocal fry was that she constantly called me ‘Wynnie’.

Oh look, we’ve arrived at Rule Three—

My name is Wynonna. Not Wynnie. Not Nona. Not Nonnie. Wy-nonna.

“Gettin’ rowdy, Tubman,” I said to my manager as I passed by him to refill the cokes at the snack bar. “You wanna help me out?”

He grunted a disinterested answer.

“Awesome. Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes as fizzy liquid sugar filled the red diner cups this place had probably had since the ‘50s. I dropped them off to their respective locations, once again ignoring Champ’s catcalling and the wandering eyes of his equally crappy friends.

Listen, I was thankful for my body. Naturally slim and somewhat tall, I was graceful even when I wasn’t (which was always) and had to do very little to keep an athletic physique. Not that any of that matters. Teenage boys aren’t looking at your face. But my being thankful for my body didn’t give everyone else free reign to be gross.

ANYWAY.

I tossed my tray down onto the counter and sneaked through the back door into the empty kitchen. Our “cook”, Donnie - the guy that heated up the pizzas or threw arrays of breaded food into the fryer - was probably out in his car smoking a joint. My fingers fished into the back pocket of my torn black jeans and pulled out a half-crushed soft pack of Reds. The back door creaked open beneath my palm and the cool fall air smacked me in the face. It felt amazing - the rollerway was so hot and humid: Tubman was too cheap to turn on the AC after mid-August even if the heat still stuck around.

The filter of my cigarette found its way between my lips. I lit the other end, inhaling pure nicotine and exhaling all the BS from inside up toward the stars.

Flick.

This was the moment I decided to adopt a fourth rule. Having four rules is not as aesthetically pleasing as three, I know, but if you couldn’t tell yet... I didn’t care.

Flick.

The distant hum of electrical wires echoed from the parking lot around front - it was the only sound filling the night. I wondered if anyone went insane here from the lack of general ambience. My phone buzzed in my pocket - WAVES flashed on the screen. Waverly Earp, my adoring, overprotective little sister.

Her text read: _when are you off? Nicole wants to go shooting… Help. Me._

Flick _._

Ugh, couples. I was surrounded by them. They littered the inside of the rollerway, and now they littered my text messages. Waverly and Nicole were the worst possible match for each other, they barely liked any of the same things. But they liked each other. A LOT. So that somehow worked.

I texted back, _hour and a half, maybe? If Tubs doesn’t keep me around to clean the snack bar a second time like he did last week…_

A few seconds later she texted back, _Ugh. Fine. I’ll handle it on my own. PS don’t let Tubby stare at your butt when you’re mopping tonight. YOU’RE TOO NICE TO HIM. He’s gross, Wynonna._

I answered, _thanks, Mom,_ and slipped my phone back into my apron.

Buzz: another text from Waverly. _Come to hers after work, though._

 _K,_ I said, dropping my phone into the same front pocket. A spike of electricity flew through the wires. I looked up, watching my exhaled smoke climb toward them.

Flick.

A lightness washed over me, the cigarette doing its humble work and cooling my boiling blood from the encounters inside. I laid my head against the concrete of the wall behind me, shifting and leaning a black-Chuck clad foot against it. What if I just got in my car and drove away? Didn’t stop? Waves would be so pissed. But she had Nicole. They’d figure it out.

Flick.

It was Skye’s birthday. I knew this because every year since middle school her friends were ultra subtle in their sparse decoration of her locker - and the entire row of lockers along with hers. Decked out in silk ribbons, balloons, teddy bears (I mean, why?), beads… it was like an art installation, an ode to glitter. And, oh boy, my locker was right underneath hers so the mess was always completely unavoidable. I’m talking glitter in my hair for days.

I bet I would have to bring out the obscenely sized cake when I went back inside. Where was the rolling cart we usually kept in the kitchen? Oh, yes, the cake was big enough that it needed to be rolled out on a cart. Because Skye’s birthdays were always somehow akin to a wedding. I shuddered to imagine what _that_ celebration would look like one day.

Flick.

I took one last puff, the butt of the cigarette squeezing every ounce of nicotine from the few leaves of tobacco left. The filter fell from my fingers and was soon squished between rubber and concrete as I stomped it out.

If I told you Skye was my best friend from preschool up through fifth grade, would you believe me?

I sighed, I’d dallied long enough. It was time to go back into the trenches. The door, however, had other plans. It remained stagnant beneath my grip. I pulled again. Locked out. Dammit.

Sighing again, I started to trudge around to the front of the building. The rev of motorcycle engines filled the air and two large men rode into the parking lot, coming as close as possible to me and the front door before stopping. They turned off their engines and stood up. They didn’t look like the rollerskating type.

“Rollerway’s closed tonight for a private party, boys, sorry. You on the list?” I asked while backing up toward the door.

“That’s cute. The list,” the biggest one said, his wrists about half the size of my neck. A familiar tingle shot up my spine, standing my hairs on end.

Uh oh.

“Which one are you?” the smallest one asked in a deep voice reserved for a much larger man.

“Well that’s no fun,” I said. “You’ll have to guess.”

“We ain’t exactly in the guessing mood,” the first guy said. I wished they would’ve taken their helmets off. It was hard talking to over-buffed Storm Troopers in black uniforms.

“Well I’m sorry gents, there is a birthday party going on in there and they’re waiting on their cake. If you wouldn’t mind…” I trailed off, backing even closer to the front door. I could see the commotion inside, the rowdy fun, my boss’s face stuck in the pages of some hunting magazine.

The smaller guy was between me and the door before I could take a breath.

“Mind? Sorry, baby, but we do.” Flames burned in my stomach.

“Rule One.”

“What?” he said, his hand now grabbing my wrist.

“Don’t call me, ‘baby’,” I said, my fingers wrapping around his wrist and twisting. The air carried me over his head and placed me back on the ground behind him. The small gun in my back pocket was already in my palm and aimed when my feet touched down on the concrete.

“I told ya she was one of ‘em,” the bigger one said.

“Grunts,” I said. “Shoulda known. You guys got a new look going? Uniforms now? Only Revenant, Grunt-ass tools would wear these stupid black outfits.”

“You’re about to be in over your head, girl,” the smaller one said, rubbing his wrist idly. Aw, I think I twisted it. These idiots were nothing new, they roamed the town once the sun went down every day for as long as I could remember. My phone buzzed in my apron. I bet it was Waves asking me to steal a pack of the 50 cent brownies with the colorful confetti on them we sold at the snack bar. I made a note to remember to check later after I got rid of these buffoons.

“She won’t shoot, Tank,” ( _I’m sorry, Tank?_ ) the bigger one, let’s call him Biggy, said to the smaller one.

“You sure about that?” I asked, aiming my gun from Tank to Biggy. My nerves were bubbling up.

“We didn’t come here to fight,” Biggy said. I cocked my eyebrows.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“We just thought you and your kind would like to know that Ronan is on his way.” Who the hell was Ronan?

Before I could ask, Tank’s fist had collided with my mouth.

“You watch that thing the next time we come around,” he said. I grabbed the wrist he’d been rubbing and snapped it back. It cracked, and his cry resounded across the lot. Biggy snorted, laughing. Grunts were the worst.

“You’re a fiesty one,” Biggy said. “I like that in a Wildcat.”

“Lucky for me,” I said, spitting blood onto the ground. Another motorcycle engine revved in the distance, getting closer.

“Not so lucky,” Tank said, walking back to his bike. They really had come to give a message? They weren’t going to attack?

A third motorcycle gunned into the parking lot. As it got closer, I could tell that its rider was distinctly female, though still in the blacks the two other Grunts wore. That was interesting. I’d never seen a female Grunt before. So… yay feminism?

“Tank. You say what you need to say?” Lady Grunt asked, her voice loud over the rumbling of her engine.

“Yeah, he said it.” Biggy said. “Little Lady broke his wrist.”

“Ooohhh, I like you,” Lady Grunt said. Something in her voice sounded so familiar. What was it?

Before I could wonder further, she and Biggy had started back off across the lot. Cradling his broken wrist, Tank mounted his bike and sped off after his friends just in time for old Tubs to open the front doors.

“I heard a scream,” he said.

“Dumbasses trying to set off fireworks,” I said. “I handled it.” I turned around, hand on my face, but I couldn’t hide the blood gushing from my nose and mouth. And who was Ronan?

“Wynonna!” he said, and he actually sounded concerned. I pushed passed him and into the rollerway.

“Whatever, it’s fine,” I said, grabbing napkins and passing the party of people watching, gossiping as I breezed by.

“Looks like _someone_ put baby in a corner.” Champ’s comment pierced my eardrum. I whipped around, grabbing the pool cue in his hands and smashing it against the table. It snapped in two and I let the pieces fall to the floor with an echoing thud. His face dropped, stunned.

“Pick up your cue, Hardy baby,” I said, tone smooth as silk. “And your jaw.” I spat a wad of blood at his feet. “Goin’ home!” I announced loudly as I turned around and marched toward the kitchen where I kept my purse. No one followed. Not even Tubs. I grabbed a 50 cent pack of brownies on my way through the snack bar into the kitchen. Even if that’s not what Waverly was texting me about, she’d be grateful for it anyway.

_The text!_

I took out my phone and slid the screen open. It was a photo. From Waves. No, it was a series of photos. In the first, her hands were tied. Was this some kinky stuff she and Nicole were trying out? And why had I become involved? The next picture was her ankles, tied as well - to what looked like the legs of a chair. The third picture was her face, terrified, with duct tape pulled across her lips. This wasn’t sexy fun. My fingers trembled as I scrolled down to see the last picture. There Nicole was, donning Grunt blacks, helmet in one hand, Waverly’s phone in the other, snapping a selfie with my sister. Nicole. I knew Lady Grunt’s voice sounded familiar.

My stomach dropped into my feet. My ears hummed like a bomb had descended. That… bitch.

Forgive me, I may have forgotten to mention a few things in the attack of nausea that was Champ Hardy, the Grunts, my sister’s capture… I didn’t expect to dive right into the Grunts so quickly without explanation, but it all just sort of came out once I started. You’ve probably heard of what I do called a variety of different things: a Warrior, a Fighter, a Hunter, a Slayer.

We don’t really use those terms in any official capacity, but we all essentially do the same thing. We protect places from all those things you’ve spent your life telling your kids don’t exist. I, am a Wildcat. And as a Wildcat, we're never supposed to get too attached to anyone around us.

That's why I adopted the aformentioned Rule Four:

Never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love.


	2. Ol' Shorty's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna gets an earful from Waverly. And... Nicole? 
> 
> And also her mentor. 
> 
> Ugh, can she get a second?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy you guys are interested in this funky little story!
> 
> Those of you worried about Nicole... don't worry too hard, my heart wouldn't allow me to make her TOO evil ;).

My lead foot was heavier than usual as I flew through the back dirt roads of Brighton. Yeah, who knew Vermont was a hotspot for demonic activity - we call them Iceboxes - it wasn’t something I would have expected. Los Angeles or New York City, Berlin or London, maybe, but Brighton, Vermont an Icebox? (Fun fact: NYC and Berlin are, in fact, also Iceboxes)

I huffed, shifting the gearstick on my mostly rusted old car. It crunched a bit but jumped forward, accelerating even faster. Acid bubbled in my chest, a burning making its way through my veins - I couldn’t believe it. Nicole. I believed plenty in the reprehensible things people were capable of, or the mentality created in small bubbles that could lead mildly offensive thoughts to become violent action - but I never could have believed it from Nicole. I was furious with myself: how could I have not smelled it on her? I should have known! Burton was going to be _furious_ that I hadn’t seen it earlier. Then I realized Burton hadn't seen it, either. Why hadn't _any_ of us seen? Nicole Haught was part of the clan!

Burton was my trainer, my Mentor, and I her charge. She had spent her entire adult life training Wildcats like me - the outcasts (yes, there are cliques, even within the Wildcats), the “problems”, the ones with issues with authority.

 _Buzz._ My phone vibrated next to me. I picked it up (don’t text and drive… do as I say, not as I do, kids).

Haught: _Meet me at Ol’ Shorty’s in 30 minutes. Come alone._

Eff you. I threw my phone down. _Buzz._

Nicole. Again. _Waverly said to tell you, “Shadowdweller,” whatever the shit that means._

I slammed my breaks so hard I nearly cracked my nose on the steering wheel from the whiplash.

A soaring symphony of crickets filled the otherwise quiet night, my skin rising into goosebumps at what Nicole had said. “Shadowdweller”. The one and only time we’d talked about our, for lack of a better term, “safety word”. Waves had to know the situation was already dire, that I would no doubt do everything in my power to save her, so why sing out a safety word from the mountain tops?

Voices in my head began arguing:

_Unless she thought you wouldn’t meet Nicole._

_She’d be damn right that I’m not going to meet Nicole. It’s an idiotic trap._

_Is it? Is that why Waverly said ‘shadowdweller’? Think about it, genius. She said it to make sure you’d_ **_show up._ **

A growl ripped through my throat. Two sides of me were burning, at odds with one another. One was screaming that I should go to Burton, call Burton, involve Burton any way I could. She would be furious if I went in alone. I tossed the napkins to the passenger seat as I felt the flowing of the blood from my nose stop, and my resolve turned my veins to stone.

I checked my rear and sideview mirrors and pulled a U-Turn.

I was going in alone.

My foot shoved the gas and clutch pedals down to the floor, my car jumping forward, its gear sticking slightly at the abrupt change.

“Come on, baby,” I cooed, patting the dashboard. I grinned as the car seemed to smooth into a rhythm. Who’s to say cars aren’t animate?

The seconds dragged like agonizing hours as I flew down the twisted country roads I knew so well. They wanted me at Ol’ Shorty’s in thirty? I’d be there in fifteen. If I didn’t get pulled over first. Not that the cops in this town could touch me. They knew what I did, they knew my role here. Not everyone in this wasteland knew about the dark underbelly of Brighton, but law enforcement did. They stayed out of my way, and I stayed out of theirs.

Ol’ Shorty’s (Shorty’s for short) was a dive bar just outside the outskirts of town. Not exactly territory I was dying to go to - usually it was filled with drunks and Grunts. But as I sped toward its normally dim, dingy lights, smoke filled the horizon, and a building ablaze filled my vision. Shorty’s was burning down. I drove faster still, my little car almost creaking under the speed.

Into the parking lot I flew, stopping far enough away that I wouldn’t be burned by the immense flames climbing into the sky. Stepping out from my car, I saw no other vehicles there. The booming crackle of the fire was the only sound flooding my ears, no sirens, no screams, nothing. I hurried around the building, trying to get inside, calling out to anyone in need of help.

Nothing. No one. No one was here.

Was this a set-up?

The rev of a motorcycle grew closer. Nicole was on her way. I sprinted back around the building, not wanting to be caught off-guard when she arrived. Burton had taught me well, and never, ever being caught off-guard was one of her biggest rules. I followed it, but it never did find its way to my list.

Nicole (with… was that Waverly behind her?… And was Waves… hugging her around the waist?) came flying into the lot, pulling up behind my car and stopping her bike. She jumped from the back of it, followed by Waverly. Anger seared in my veins, my fingers balling into a fist.

Nicole barely had time to remove her helmet before my knuckles connected with her strong jawline. Her short red hair was shaved on one side and the rest of it fell over her other eye and stopped just below her jaw. At least I'd had the sense to hit her where her hair would cover the bruise tomorrow.

“Wynonna!” Waverly’s shrieking wail left her mouth a millisecond after the “thud” of Nicole’s helmet hitting the pavement echoed between the three of us.

“Guess I deserved that,” Nicole said, flexing her face.

“You okay, baby?” Waverly stepped forward, cradling Nicole’s cheek in her palms. Nicole nodded.

“What in the unholy hell is happening here?” I asked, not all together unprepared to throw more punches if need be.

“Wynonna, I’m sorry, I-oh my god, your face!“ Waverly said, trying to reach out to touch my cheek now. I pulled away.

“Sorry? _Sorry?!_ You’re, Waverly, you’re here!” I began, screaming, half-stuttering. “She sent me photos of you tied to a chair, threatening, she’s a… she’s a Grunt… and she, you,” I couldn’t piece sentences together fast enough for the pace my mouth was moving.

“Wynonna, hey, stop,” Waverly said, her dark eyes boring into mine, her soothing voice immediately calming me down. She was one of the only ones that could when my mind was racing like it was right then. I stopped talking.

Waverly sighed and ran a hand through her stick-straight brunette locks.

“I’m sorry.” Nicole said, her voice low.

“Not ready to hear from the peanut gallery, Grunt,” I spat.

“Wynonna,” Waverly’s usually chipper tambour was deep, dominant. I flinched at the name. My eyes met hers.

“What is going on?” I asked, a thousand thoughts racing all at once, had Nicole put Waves under a spell? Did it mean I would have to hurt Waverly? Or worse, was Waverly betraying me?

“I’m sorry, Wynonna, we had to… we had to lie to you. They’re watching Nicole’s every move…” Waverly began, her voice still deep.

The flames continued to rage from Shorty’s, and the smell was starting to make me dizzy. Or maybe it was this conversation.

“You’re safe,” I stated, but it was more of a question.

“I’m safe. Nicole would never hurt me. You know that,” Waverly’s smaller hand found mine. I ripped it away.

“I was _livid,_ Waves. I _am_ livid.” My feet began pacing of their own accord. “You, you _had_ to lie to me? So, you’re not tied up and being tortured?” I turned to Nicole. “You’re not a Grunt?”

“Well, I’m not tied and being tortured…” Waverly said, trailing the last part of the sentence off.

“ _So you are a Grunt?!”_ I very nearly shouted at Nicole but stopped myself. Never know what ears are listening in old Brighton.

“They’ve been following her for _weeks,_ Wynonna,” Waverly began. Nicole was being unnaturally quiet, her head hanging low. Her posture told me she was defeated. What was going on?

“They took Andy. They said if I didn’t join them that they’d…” Nicole’s voice cracked, and my anger dissipated with it. They’d taken her little brother, and if she didn’t do everything they said, they’d kill him.

“Effing grunts,” I huffed, but I didn’t say ‘effing’. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped,” I said quietly, hugging Nicole close to me.

“I mean, that’s kinda what we’re doing, dude,” Waverly said, the smallest bit of humor coating her voice.

I turned to her. “What’s up with Shorty’s?”

“Grunts,” Waverly said simply. We got everyone out in time, no one was hurt. But they’re sending a message.”

“I got a message, too,” I said. “Few of ‘em stopped by the rollerway tonight to screw with me. Said ‘Ronan’ was coming or something. As if I’m supposed to know what that means.” I shrugged and stepped toward Waverly. “I am so glad you’re okay.” I pulled her into a hug. “I was ready to cut Nicole into little pieces.” We broke from the embrace. “Sorry, Haught.”

“No offense taken,” she said quietly. “To be honest I’d be a little pissed if you didn’t punch me in the face.” We shared a small grin. “But come on, Wynonna, I think you know by now that I’d sooner tell the rain to stop falling than hurt my little lady.” Nicole snaked her hand with Waverly’s and I fake gagged.

“Ugh just end me if I ever get that disgusting,” I said as the two shared a small kiss. They parted and Waves looked at me, shrugging.

“Sure will, killer,” she said.

“But I mean did you have to go to such dramatic lengths, guys, _come on_ ,” I said, laughing at the end of the sentence. Relief was one emotion I didn’t get to experience a lot in this town, but when I did, I bathed like a sinner in a cistern of holy water begging for forgiveness.

“Like I said, they’re watching her. We had to make it believable, even for you,” Waverly said.

“Well as much as I enjoyed your little string of bondage-fun texts, I’d much prefer you guys find a better way of letting me in on things like this in the future. What if I’d gone to Burton?” I asked, my head tilting to the side.

“She’s gonna be so pissed you didn’t.” Waverly grinned.

“Can’t say I’m too angry that we have someone on the inside now,” I said, turning to Nicole.

“Yeah… about that…” Waverly said, shuffling her feet. My heart dropped. “We’re leaving. Town. Tonight.”

The anger I had been feeling returned tenfold and we three began a heated argument right there in front of a burning Ol’ Shorty’s.

They had to leave, they had to get their families to safety because they didn’t know how long Nicole could manage to be a Grunt without getting sucked in to the hellish torment of Brighton. I insisted they couldn’t run away. Around and around we argued, each of us making the same points over and over again. Mine: where would they go that they wouldn’t be found? What would they do there? How would they get their families out without raising suspicion? And, most importantly, they’d surely be found and killed within days, if that. Theirs: they had no other choice, they had to do something, I could handle myself, and they couldn’t take this suffocating town anymore.

I’d suddenly wished I’d brought Burton. She would have known what to say to three bickering teenage girls to make us shut up and see straight.

“We’re going to Burton,” I finally said. “Now,” my voice boomed when the two didn’t move.

After a few seconds they hopped on Nicole’s bike and took off. I glanced one last time at the burning Doc’s before turning my car off and speeding after them, my fingers dialing 911 to report the fire. Though I’m sure the whole town already knew about it.

Fifteen minutes later we were pulling to Burton’s driveway. I could see the light on in the garage she had transformed into a gym a few years back. She must have been blowing off some late night steam from a long day, she never usually worked out this late.

Nicole and Waves climbed off Nicole’s bike as I opened my car door and stepped out.

They followed me as I walked to the door and knocked three times before pausing for a second, then knocked twice, paused again, and knocked five times. I was shocked Burton could hear anything over the blast of the music playing, but after a second I heard it die down. She really was incredibly in tune with her senses.

I shivered as Burton looked at none of us, turning away as she opened the door. Burton strode back to the punching bag she had been using, her jet black hair up in its standard ponytail and swaying side to side. This was abnormal. She always greeted me at the door, letting me step inside before closing the door behind me.

_She's furious._

I caught Waverly’s eye, noticing the confusion in her stare, the unsaid question of 'why isn't anyone saying anything' dancing dangerously upon her lips. Waves was not a Cat, but she was part of us by my association. She didn't know protocol. Nicole, being part of the clan, knew immediately what to do. She took the typical charge stance with me: feet shoulder length apart, right hand clasped over left wrist and laying on the abdomen, head bowed.

Waves, however, remained oblivious. She stepped forward and spoke quickly before I could stop her.

"Burton, we're here-"

"I know why you're here, you insolent children," Burton's voice was rough, deep, and I had heard it only one other time during my training. When I'd gone out on a hunt one night on my own and nearly gotten myself killed.

Guilt, anger, and shame flared up in my chest, and I looked at Waves with eyes of daggers, begging my best friend to say no more. Waverly stepped back alongside her girlfriend and me, noticing how the we were standing. She took the same stance.

It felt like hours before Burton finally said something else.

"Step forward, Wynonna,” she said, still refusing to turn. The only way I knew this was because I could see my trainer's feet out of my periphery. I didn't dare look up, but my feet carried me forward a few steps nonetheless.

"Burton, I-"

"You will speak when I ask you a question, Wynonna Michelle Earp.”

My nostrils flared, and not just at the use of my full name. I hated being chastised, hated when my Mentor was angry with me. I'm a Wildcat, dammit! And a damn good one! I'd been through the ringer tonight and frankly I wasn't sure how long I could keep my composure. But I stilled my tongue.

"They are watching us, Burton." I heard Nicole say quietly from behind me. But there was power in her voice, power I had scarce heard before from the redhead. Well, I guess she’d always been powerful. But it’d always been a little funny to me, never that serious. Now, though, now she meant business.

"I know," Burton said, her voice softer now. "And you've done well, Ms. Haught.” 

My stomach flip-flopped.

_Done well? She_ **_knew_ ** _about this?!_

Anger boiled higher in my chest still. How dare Burton keep something like this from me? We were warriors, of the same clan. We were _family._

"You were at Ol' Shortyy’s tonight, Wynonna, were you not?"

"Yes, Burton." My eyes were still glued to the floor.

"You went by yourself on a foolhardy mission, did you not?"

Something inside of me snapped, and my eyes flew to the older woman's piercing green ones.

"I went to _save my sister_!” I shouted, all the emotions from the night coming to a head.

"Your sister who _did not need saving_ ," Burton countered calmly, curtly, almost emotionless. "Harness your temper, Wynonna, what do we say about that?"

"With all due respect, Burton, you know that we disagree on that particular avenue of training. You know I think my emotions make me a better fighter," I said, doing my best to sooth my rage.

"Your temper gives you adrenaline and edge in the _fight,_ Wynonna, when you can harness it correctly," Burton said, and I watched as my Mentor's feet turned and began moving toward me, starting to circle around my stagnant body. "But you also know they drive you to make rash decisions."

"Rash like saving the people I love?" My mouth was running away with me.

"Rash like _losing_ the people you love. Rash like going somewhere _alone_ without your clan." Burton's tone had softened, like a mother coaxing a child. It was both comforting, and somehow worse.

"To be fair," I heard Waverly begin from behind me. "Nicole made the whole kidnapping thing kinda convincing. I would have freaked out, too."

"I am glad you are safe, Waverly,” Burton said, and I always found myself surprised when she used the nickname, since she typically utilized given names for everyone she spoke to. "But it does not excuse this transgression."

"Oh come off it, Burton," Waves huffed, and it took everything in me not to laugh at my little sister’s bravado. Panic seeped into my veins, sure, but when Waverly got up on her high horse, there was no stopping her.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, you're excused," Waverly said, and Nicole's blatant snicker covered my scoff. "Come on, Burton, you're practically a mom to us. I know I'm not a Wildcat, but _honestly._ I mean do you want to punish her or hear what she has to say about Ronan or whoever?"

The energy in the room shifted immediately and I couldn't help my eyes from shooting up. Burton had grown stiff at the mention of the name, and she had sucked in air so quickly that I was afraid she might choke.

"Who?"

"Ronan," I repeated what Waverly had said. "I was visited by Grunts tonight at work, and they said 'Ronan' was on his way."

"Get in the back. Get in the back, _now,"_ Burton said, ushering us towards the rear of her training facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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